


Making Hay

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: DemonDean (second edition) is on the loose, and Sam needs to catch him.  Fortunately he has Castiel and Rowena to assist.  As for Deanmon, he has an agenda of his own.  PWP. Pure, unapologetic smut.  DESTIEL, (A hint of male/female, but it's fleeting.)Here's the thing.  My friend had a dream.  She said it was so real she woke up and started looking for the episode before she realized it had only been in her head.  I decided that was something that needed to be rectified.Dream Prompt: Cas with Sam and Rowena, sitting on a truck tailgate, looking at Demon Dean lounging on a round hay bale with some chicks.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 63





	Making Hay

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Jenny, you're welcome ;-).
> 
> Prompt:  
> Cas with Sam and Rowena sitting on a truck tailgate, looking at Demon Dean lounging on a round bale with some chicks.

Sam gritted his teeth against the aggravating, oddly rhythmic sound of heavy metal clinking. The noxious sound almost masked the even more vexing, far fainter tinkle of fine china. Dropping the binoculars to his chest, he rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to normalize his eyesight after too much time spent squinting through refractive glass. 

A soft brush of fabric at his side. Sam shifted in annoyance, causing the busted old Chevy truck he was currently sitting atop to groan in metallic protest. He was legitimately surprised the antiquated car had managed to support all his weight without falling to pieces. The old tailgate appeared to be held together by rust, grit and a prayer. 

Although that last part may be more effective than he’d given credit to, Sam reflected, glancing over to his left side at the Angel perched on the truck’s edge. An angel whose intense gaze was fixed with laser precision on the scene in progress a half mile or so from their current location.

Dismissing the angel’s slightly erratic behavior as Cas being Cas, Sam glanced to his left. The petite redhead he’d gone to some lengths to acquire sat curled up next to him, her legs tucked delicately under the emerald green ankle length cashmere dress. Pure cashmere. He shuddered at how much the little witch hadn’t paid for it. 

The heavy iron cuffs appeared to be doing their job, her power greatly reduced, albeit not completely neutralized. But he’d take what he could get. The little witch smiled sardonically up at him, taking another sip from the delicate porcelain teacup, before setting it neatly on its matching saucer.

Sam glared at the tea, angry with it on general principle. $80 a pound. He hadn’t known tea could cost that much. But the overpriced leaves appeared to appease his prisoner, for the moment anyway, and he didn’t have the ability to properly monitor her should the powerful witch get it into her head to escape. 

Although at the moment, Rowena seemed perfectly content to recline on the old truck bed next to him, her amused expression occasionaly flitting over to the fixated trench coat clad figure of Castiel. 

Sam really, really hadn’t wanted to allow Rowena out from the old warehouse where he’d stashed her, but Charlie was in the wind, and Dean… well, Sam’s idiot of an older brother just had to go and get himself killed again. The moron.

The Mark of Cain had risen him, and his idiot demonic self had promptly busted out to parts unknown. So Sam had to hunt him down, again. Strangely, it had been far easier this time around. Even with Rowena’s help, it shouldn’t have been this simple. He’d caught up with Dean in less than 48 hours. Perhaps without Crowley egging him on, Deanmon didn’t bother thinking about anything beyond his own amusement. Or more likely, Dean had a private agenda all his own, though Sam had absolutely no clue what Demon Dean could want. The last time the Mark had brought him back to twisted life, he hadn’t seemed all that intent on planning ahead. Deanmon thought it, he did it, with little regard for what would happen next. 

Deanmon. A moniker Sam had instantly despised, but Rowena had coined it and for whatever damn reason, Castiel had started using it. So now that was a thing. Wonderful.

“Cas?” Sam asked the angel, pitching his voice to carry over to the other side of truck. Castiel startled, as if he’d just been recalled to the task at hand. 

“Yes?”

“Can you hear what they’re saying?”

Cas scowled in irritation, but didn’t reply, turning back to the distant scene. Answer enough.

Sam squinted, staring off into the distance. They were in the heart of Nowhereville, Nebraska, in the middle of a recently plowed hay field of all the stupid places. But that’s where Deanmon had gotten it into his head to sneak off to, and Sam had dutifully followed. 

His stupid, black-eyed brother was currently lounging at his ease, reclining atop a giant roundish bale of hay, three of the Midwest’s finest farmer’s daughters sitting around him in various states of undress. 

“Did you want to hear what they’re saying, then?” Rowena asked in her musical Irish lilt. “You could have just said as much. It’s a basic spell. Easy as sin, my lovely.”

“That would be great,” Sam told her, glaring down at the petite leprechaun of a lass. “You’ve got to be good for something.”

“Oh, my sweet man, I’m good for a great many things.” She smiled, shark-like, taking a delicate sip from her ridiculously expensive tea. 

“Well?” Sam asked.

“Say ‘please’. Manners never heart anyone, even a Winchester.”

Sam took a deep, calming breath. “Please.”

Rowena smiled. “Well, now. That didn’t hurt, did it? I said it twas a simple spell, and it generally is, but with all this iron…” She twitched her bound wrists, sighing theatrically. “I’m afraid it’s a might more difficult, trying to manage a delicate spell under these circumstances.” She held out the cuffs expectantly.

“Not a chance,” Sam replied coolly. 

Motion from the distant pasture briefly caught his attention. It was nothing, one of the girls shifting around to get closer to his brother. Initially, Sam had been worried about the girls’ safety, but Dean hadn’t shown any interest in causing them harm so far.

“Fine,” Rowena replied crossly. “Then a bit of angel should do well enough. Hair, flesh, blood. Any little piece, really.”

Cas spun around to face her, ripping a few hairs out from his head and handing them over to the witch. Sam blinked. That was…surprisingly easy. Cas must really want to know what the group was saying.

Rowena smiled, dropped the angel hair into her tea, and spoke a few ancient words that may or may not have had a common ancestor with Latin. The cola coloured liquid began to glow, moving around the cup in gentle, sparkly golden swirls. A mist of iridescent purple sparked up from the cup, spinning in lazy circles, a mini whirlpool of tea leaves and glitter. 

Rowena set the cup down on the tailgate between them, eying the purple fog expectantly. A female voice giggled from within the glittery cloud, the sound crystal clear. Witchy Bluetooth; not bad. 

Sam lifted the binoculars to his eyes and looked back over to the giant hay bale and its occupants. He needed to know what his brother was talking about. It could provide some desperately needed insight in how to capture the annoying bastard.  
\--------

Dean shifted, the hay poking him through the thin fabric of his black tee shirt. It was mildly annoying. He considered taking his little party elsewhere, but climbing down and wrangling his little harem into the car really seemed like a lot of work. And he was pretty comfortable where was, hay prickles notwithstanding. 

The tree line to his east buttressed the large, circular hay bale he and his new friends rested on, spreading a perfect canopy of shade, blocking out the harshness of the sun in the cool afternoon. A faint breeze carried the scent of hay and distantly of horse. It really was a perfect day. 

Dean’s head rested in the lap of a lovely pixie-cut blonde, her loose, pink button down shirt more than spacious enough for him to peer up at her amazing, double D attributes. The young lady’s long, elegant fingers massaged his scalp, fingering through the silky strands in clear delight. Naturally. His hair was awesome. He was willing to indulge her; he was generous that way. 

His left hand rested casually on the firm, supple thigh of the brunette on his left, while the third girl (who may or may not be the blonde’s sister, he couldn’t really remember), also a brunette though this one had purple streaks twining through her waist length hair, sat on his other side stroking his palm. All three ladies gazed down at him, their attention rapt.

“All I’m saying is that, done properly, it can be good for everyone involved,” Dean told them casually.

The blonde, Tanya, or was it Tasha, (who cared?), looked into his eyes, her fingers carting across his scalp. “I’m not sure I agree. I think that would definitely be something that would benefit the one individual.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Dean told her, grinning up at his audience. His smile widened when the three young ladies beamed back at him. “If you really get into it, I promise it can be fun all around.”

“Like you’d know,” Purple-hair scoffed, though her hands moved along his palm slowly up his arm to massage his bicep and shoulder.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Dean replied, chuckling at the shocked looks. 

“There is no way,” Brunette told him, blue eyes glittering with curiosity. 

Dean leisurely stretched, reaching into a back pocket for his phone. “Well, if you don’t believe me, I’ll just have to prove it.” Three eager sets of eyes gazed down at him adoringly. Too easy.

He unlocked his phone, casually flipping through images until he found a good one. He handed the phone over.

“A pic is worth a thousand words, right?”

The girls passed the phone around, clearly intrigued.

“Gorgeous,” Purple hair told him.

“Right?” Dean agreed smugly. “Eyes so blue they practically glow, power for days in those long legs, and don’t get me started on that ass.” 

“Me likee,” Brunette said, eyeing the screen.

“Well, tough. That one’s mine,” Dean told her, a growl in his voice. 

The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and the girls leaned back a little, nervous. Shit, he needed to tone it down if he didn’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon alone on this damned haystack. And there was the other reason, of course. 

He put on a gentle, flirty smile, deliberately relaxing his posture. The girls responded as he intended, leaning back in, body language easing. That was easy. Clearly the bad boy appeal thing was alive and well. Plus, he was stupid hot. 

“Where was I? Ah yes, mutual pleasure.” One of the girls sighed.

“Take this one,” Dean began, winking. “I did, anyway. Many, many times.”

Blondie giggled, a blush on her cheeks.

“Really, it’s all about the build up,” Dean glanced at his phone, smirking faintly at the image looking so intently back at him. He looked up into the distance, eyes flashing to demon black before bleeding back to their usual shade of fan fiction green, the transition so quick that the ladies completely missed it. Not that they really mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Dean glanced down at the image on the phone with a faint smile, careful not to dislodge the fingers expertly massaging his scalp. God, he loved head scratchies.

“The last time I had him, I started him on his back, after getting that stupid coat off, of course. We were on a big bed, plenty of room to maneuver.” Purple hair placed a hand on his inner thigh, massaging gently. Dean spread his legs just a few inches, enough to signal encouragement without breaking off his story.

“Lips at his neck, tracking hotspots like x’s on a pirate’s map. The neck’s a hot spot for most everyone, have you noticed?” Brunette moaned a soft whimper as Dean’s fingers ventured further up her inner thigh. 

“Moved onto a little frottage between the legs, caresses over the pants. Not too much, just a tease, enough to make sure that beauty stayed put for me.”

The hand on his thigh moved subtly up higher. Impatient, Dean slid his hand over Purple’s, guiding it over his denim covered balls. The girl was quick to take the hint, thank God.

“Once I had his undivided attention, I slid off the pants. Slowly, inch by inch.”

The girls nodded eagerly, eyes rapt. Occasionaly, one would gaze at the photo still pulled up his phone. That was alright, he’d share the image with them, and he liked watching how they reacted to what was exclusively HIS. 

“Is he stacked?” Brunette asked daringly.

Dean smirked, nodding. “Oh, yeah. Eight thick, glorious, delicious inches.” 

“Sounds like a mouthful,” one of them remarked. He wasn’t sure which.

“Well, yeah,” Dean agreed. “But it’s so much better that way once you adjust. Who wants a scrawny little hotdog in their mouth when they could have a nice, thick kielbasa?” Blondie and Purple tittered, though Brunette was nodding in sage agreement.

“Anyway, I pulled the waist of his pants down and that thick, meaty cock just sort of sprang free, you know. Right at my face. Like it knew where it belonged.” 

Purple hair licked her lips. The hand on his balls moved up, cupping the hard ridge of his cock and stroking. Dean groaned, thrusting into the touch.

“I put my lips on the tip, blew a little air on the sensitive skin there,” he shrugged, smiling wickedly, “I’m a bit of a tease.”

“You don’t say,” the brunette at his side said breathlessly. 

She could have been that into his story, or maybe it was how his thumb rhythmically rubbing against the soft, warm edges guarding the way to her promised land. No panties, which simplified things. Dean liked easy.

Dean continued his story smoothly, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Once I was sure I had his undivided attention, I swallowed him whole, straight to the root, no warning. The way he groaned, giving it all up for me, there’s nothing quite like that moment. When you have complete control in how you want to make them feel, how much you choose to give, their orgasm is in your hands. And ladies, there’s a reason they call it the ‘little death.”

He was laying it on thick, but the farmer’s daughters were eating it up. And as for that other thing…well, as best he could judge, this was going even better than he’d expected. It wouldn’t be long now. 

Purple hair, clearly the most adventurous of the trio, if not the more experienced, slowly unzipped his jeans, pulling his erection into the warm summer air. Dean smiled encouragingly. To his left, Brunette moaned as his fingers slid past the soft, wet flesh into her body, thrusting gently. Not much, just a touch. He wanted to see how far he could push her.

Purple hair smiled impishly, lowering her face to his cock. “You swallowed eight inches? Skilled move, there. Not for the faint of heart.”

Dean lifted his hips, allowing the girls to pull his pants down and off, while Blondie the Lap Pillow unbuttoned his shirt, baring his chest.

Purple hair slid her mouth down his cock in a gulp, attempting to take him to the root. She made a noble effort, but he was a lot to take in, even for a pro. And while she was no newbie, Purple had a lot learn about sucking cock. She started to gag about three quarters of the way down. Dean considered holding her head there, feeling her choke on his length, but decided against it. There was only one person he wanted to hold that close.

She pulled off, coughing wetly, watering eyes meeting his in embarrassment. “You were right,” Dean told her with a teasing smirk. “Definitely a skilled move.” 

Brunette laughed, gasping when Dean slid two fingers deep inside her wet heat. “Scoot, Lexie. My turn,” she told her friend/ sister? He couldn’t keep track.

“Easy ladies,” Dean replied languidly, stretching his legs wide. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Brunette was clearly the most experienced of the three, Dean decided. She didn’t try to take all of him in one gulp. Instead, she worked her way slowly up, moving her perfect mouth along his shaft. Now if only her tongue twisted along his under-vein, but no, that was a very specific, unique move. 

Dean eyes opened, his black, pupiless gaze staring challengingly out into the distance when the girl swallowed his cock as far as she could. He groaned, eyes sliding shut. 

Blonde Lap girl’s hands left his head. Before Dean could protest, they glided down his neck, thumbs rubbing gently against his nipples. Dean sighed in content; he was definitely a nipple man. She pinched experimentally, with just a kiss of pressure.

“Harder,” he grunted, thrusting his chest up into her hands. He groaned when one of the girls slurped noisily on his cock. Raw enthusiasm was no substitute for true skill, but it was plenty enough for right now. 

Then his wet cock was bare to world, no soft mouth cocooning it in soft, warm heat. He glanced down, looking towards the girls askance. Then he understood, they were taking it up a notch; that worked for him. 

Brunette had removed her shirt and bra, revealing plump, firm breasts with tiny pink nipples. Dean didn’t think; he reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling her chest to his mouth to taste. 

Blonde Head Pillow made a noise of protest when her hands were dislodged from his nipples. Dean wasn’t a fan either, but he’d get back to that.

He nuzzled the plump warm breasts filling his vision, taking one pert nipple in his mouth and sucking. The girl’s whimper of pleasure made his cock throb.

“Dean,” she murmured breathlessly. “I have a question.”

“Ask away,” he told her, moving his mouth to nuzzle the other breast.

“How…” gasp, “how do you feel about cowboys?”

Dean glanced up, seeing the girl’s coy expression looking back at him. 

“Big fan,” he replied. “Huge.”

She laughed throatily, pulling away from his mouth, settling back over his hips. Purple hair slid a hand along his balls to his shaft, taking the base in a firm grip. She held him steady while Brunette sank down on his length, her pert bottom landing on his hips, wriggling a bit while she found her balance. She paused a minute, eyes closed as she adjusted, and began to bounce.  
**********

Sam dropped the binoculars into his lap. “Castiel,” he called out. “Do me a favor and burn my eyes out of my skull?” Rowena laughed. 

“Cas?” he called again, concerned when the angel failed to answer.

“Just a minute, Sam,” Cas replied. I’m busy.” His eyes were glued to the far group, focused on their target with all the stiff, dedicated fixation of a pointer hound.

Well, at least one of them could watch this scene without wishing to go blind, Sam decided. He glanced to his left. Rowena was gazing the same direction as Cas, her eyes glowing faintly with a witchy light. Make that two. Apparently she didn’t need binoculars to see from a distance.

“Your brother really is quite spectacular, Samuel,” she told him absently. “Supreme endurance on the lad. And a lovely set of abs. Why, that girl has to be at least a hundred and thirty pounds and he’s been pumping up into her like she’s near weightless for a solid fifteen minutes.”

“Dean has excellent musculature and supreme endurance,” Cas muttered in agreement from his spot on the truck, blue eyes locked on the distance scene. He sounded grouchy. 

Sam groaned. If he hadn’t already been to Hell and knew better, he’d think this was it.

Deciding he needed something, anything else to do, Sam left the other two to play voyeur and went to the passenger side of the truck to check his supplies. Opening the cooler, he checked on the half dozen bags of ‘O’ neg blood nestled securely under a thick bed of ice, a number of rosaries bobbing around in the icy water. Next to the cooler, a Trader Joe’s bag held several dozen syringes and a set of the dungeon’s super-spelled cuffs. Sam pulled out the cuffs and returned to the tailgate. 

Rowena had managed to acquire a bottle of whisky from somewhere and was drinking enthusiastically, a cheery smile on her ruby red lips, while the cuppa tea continued to faithfully project several feminine whimpers and moans, plus the occasional delighted scream, paired with deep masculine grunts of effort. 

When he was done melting Sam’s eyes, Cas could do his eardrums too. Or, better still, completely erase the last half hour from his brain entirely. Sam looked over to Cas to find his friend was now standing, perfectly balanced, on the upper edge of the of the side of the truck, his trench coat flowing faintly around him in a nonexistent breeze. His eyes were glowing. 

“Cas?” Sam asked. “You okay? Cuz we still need to figure out how to catch Dean so I can turn him back.”

Cas leapt from the truck, landing nimbly onto the ground. He came to Sam’s side and yanked the metal cuffs from his hands. “Give me those. I’ll go capture Deanmon. At the pace he’s been maintaining, he’s only good for another 13 minutes.” 

Cas started off determinedly down the hill, a faint echo of dark wings shadowing the ground in his wake. He glanced back at Sam. “Give me some time, though. Twenty minutes ought to be sufficient.” The teacup screamed in sheer feminine ecstasy. 

Cas’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “Make it thirty.” Turning, he marched towards the distant hay bale. 

Okay, then. Sam turned back to Rowena. “Well?” She asked, raising one delicate eyebrow. “One brother, as promised. I believe we had a deal, Samuel.”

Glaring at the petite redhead, Sam undid the iron cuffs, then reached into his pocket and handed over a piece of glittering pink and white iridescent, bonelike material. 

“One eighth a piece of a unicorn’s horn, as agreed,” Sam told her sourly. 

While the witch evaluated the new shiny, Sam slipped one of Crowley’s tracker coins into a fold of the dress. He and Cas could catch her again later.

Apparently satisfied, Rowena slipped the piece of horn into a side pocket, smiling brightly. She then hopped back up onto the tailgate, resuming her former spot while she continued to sip elegantly at her whisky.

“What do you think your doing?” Sam demanded.

“What, me? Well, staying for the end, of course. The show isn’t nearly over yet. And really Samuel, its best to keep me around, don’t you think? In case your glowering friend fails? A witch in the hand, and all that.”

Sam closed his eyes. “Fine.” He was going to need therapy after this one. Hours and hours of therapy. And maybe a lobotomy.  
===========

The three girls fell asleep as one, happy, sated looks on their faces. If their sudden unconscious state seemed suspicious, well, it wasn’t anything Dean hadn’t anticipated. He rolled onto his side Burt Reynolds style, buck-naked on a pile of clothes on the hay bale and waited expectantly.

He grinned at Cas’ approach, his hand reaching under the hay to grip an angel-killing blade. Cas saw the move but ignored it in favor of roughly shoving off his coat, pulling his shirt over his head in a hail of broken buttons. 

“Well, well, well,” Dean murmured, eyes shuttering to demon black. His hand emerged from the hay, blade free. “Guess my Angel really is a centerfold.”

Cas leapt, nimbly landing atop the eight-foot high hay bale in a single jump. 

“Not exactly,” he growled, roughly forcing Dean to his belly. He slammed a knee into the small of Dean’s back, roughly pinning him there while he unbuttoned his pants. 

Impatient, Cas gave up on his zipper and burned the remainder of his clothing away, ignoring the way Dean chortled beneath him when he correctly deduced the source of the heat at his back. “Something bothering you, angel?” He asked slyly. “You seem to be a little fluffed.”

Dean rose up on his forearms, gazing behind him with a cocky grin. Cas didn’t wait, didn’t play. He yanked Dean’s hips up and slammed his cock hard into his ass, burying himself to the root. Dean groaned, falling flat onto his chest. Cas didn’t hesitate a moment; laying into him, with fierce, rapid thrusts, abandoning any pretext of subtlety or teasing. 

“Jesus,” Dean groaned, “buy a guy a drink first.” His words were a token protest, but his aforementioned abs smoothly rippled, tensing in an effort to shove his ass back to meet Cas’ powerful thrusts.

“Have you not had enough flirtation?” Cas demanded without slowing his pace. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Because you’ve spent the last hour taunting me. I think we’re well past foreplay. Don’t you?”

Dean panted, groaning when Cas rammed his cock into his ass with Angelic force, the thrusts so powerful they caused the entire hay bale to quake. Dean was a demon now, after all. He could take so much more than a mere human. And he’d been dying to find out how Cas would fuck if he wasn’t hindered by a mortal’s frailty. 

“Alright, featherhead. Let’s do this; show me what you’ve got.” Dean dug his fingers deep into the hay, clutching tight. He didn’t resist when Cas hauled him to his knees, took his hips in vice-strong grip and proceeded to do his very best his to pound the hell out of him. Dean huffed out a rough laugh, delighted when the taunting sound only seemed to spur the angel on to even greater efforts. He’d worked for this ride, damnit, and he was going to enjoy every aching minute.

================

Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching the truck, Sam came around from where he’d been hiding in the cab. Rowena’s spelled teacup had gone silent some time ago, though the witch had only recently disappeared. Sam really didn’t know or care where, at the moment.

Sam slid around the hood to see Cas, clothes disheveled, hair an unruly mess, marching a cuffed and completely unrepentant Deanmon towards the truck. If his brother was walking with a limp, Sam decided to believe he’d been injured during his capture. It would also explain all the rapidly healing scratches and bruises along his neck and arms. Yeah, that was it. Any other thought made his brain bleed. 

Cas wore a scowl, but his eyes gleamed with deep satisfaction. His hand was locked solidly on Dean’s elbow as he half walked, half dragged him along beside him.

“I have Deanmon,” Castiel announced unnecessarily. Dean raised an eyebrow, apparently amused by the title. “We should get him back to the Bunker so we can start the ritual. He will be much more cooperative this time around.” 

“Not sure I’d bank on that,” Dean warned. Cas glared at his captive. 

Cas turned back to Sam. “Also, there will be no escaping. I’ll tie him up myself.” Dean smirked. 

Dean grinned toothily at Sam and winked. His eyes shuttered to demon black, making Sam wince. He grunted when Cas yanked him along. “So worth it,” he told his brother, chuckling darkly as he was guided away. 

Sam heard the sound of the passenger door open as Cas roughly stowed his brother in the passenger seat. “Easy tiger,” Dean complained, though his tone was relaxed, lazy even. “I’m all about the rough handling, but give a man a few minutes to recover.”

Sam had not heard that. Nope. La La La. He busied himself with thinking about the ritual ahead. He hoped Castiel was right, and it’d go more smoothly than the last time. But still, he’d make sure to hide all the hammers.


End file.
